To Represent the Wizzards
by aotearoan
Summary: Discworld's Rincewind crashes into the Council of Elrond and Does Not Volunteer to join the Fellowship. One-shot. Lord of the Rings Discworld crossover. Honourable mention MEFA awards 2010 thanks people!


One-shot (probably). I don't own Tolkien's work, nor the creations of the wonderful, talented Terry Pratchett. Idea transplanted from Pratchett.

Some dialogue taken directly from the book and film of _The Fellowship of the Ring_

R,R and enjoy. And I'm sorry for the terrible things I did.

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"The Ring must be destroyed. And one of you must do this".

Elrond stared around the circle of Elves, Men and Dwarves. Not one of them met his eye. They sat silently, waiting for someone - someone else - to volunteer for this arduous task, taking the Ring to Mordor.

They knew the task was impossible, or so near to impossible that only a linguist would call it something else. They knew, too, the risk of being tempted by the Ring, and falling into shadow through its power. None of them wanted to be seen as too eager to take it, and none of them was particularly keen on walking to their deaths bearing the bloody thing.

The noon-bell rang. Still no-one spoke. All the Council sat with downcast eyes, as if in deep thought.

Frodo, sitting unnoticed beside Bilbo, was suddenly full of great dread, as if he was awaiting the pronouncement of some doom that he had long foreseen and vainly hoped might after all never be spoken. An overwhelming longing to rest and remain at peace by Bilbo's side in Rivendell filled all his heart. At last, with an effort, he stood up, and spoke in a small voice:

"I will take- "

But Frodo got no further. He was interrupted almost at once by a scruffy, human-sized creature falling out of the air a metre above him and landing on his head.

The creature lay, winded, on top of the senseless hobbit, as the Council gasped in alarm and reached for various concealed weaponry. Gandalf leant forward, and examined the arrival closely. Elrond held up a hand, ordering the Council to hold their fire. He wanted an explanation, and peered at the creature, keen eyes searching for some kind of clue.

The creature got stiffly to his feet. It appeared to be some kind of human. The elves could hear him muttering under his breath, though they could not understand the strange oaths and curses he was using.

_"Bloody Vetinari, bloody Ridcully. Not a moment's peace, Oh no, let's just grab old Rincewind, he's always up for a laugh, let's play merry hell with the timetable for Cruel and Unusual Geography... bastards!" _

He straightened, and flailed madly at his own head. The watchers could see that a strange, crumpled object had attacked him and attempted to devour him, scalp-first. It had reached the eyebrows before whatever sorcery that had brought this wretched creature here had presumably killed it.

He pulled the thing off his head and pummelled it for a minute or two, tugging one end into some kind of point. It roughly, very roughly, resembled the hat that Gandalf wore, but a strange collection of runes were scrawled across it, spelling out a strange word in sparkly jewels (that the dwarves present immediately saw as poor imitations) or in the faded places were sparkly jewels had once been.

It said, in some unknown, suspicious language, just one word.

"Wizzard".

The intruder rammed the hat back on his head, then peered around the circle. The dwarves noticed with scorn his poor, straggling beard. The elves leaned back in their seats looking disgusted in a well-mannered way. Gandalf looked horrified, as if he'd met a voodoo doll, or embarrassing relative. Frodo, dazed, crawled to a safe place under Gandalf's chair, until the stars stopped spinning.

The Wizzard's glance fell on Elrond,and he obviously decided he was the one in charge of things.

He smoothed his ratty robes and drew himself up as proudly as a man can who has the barrel chest and glorious muscles of an asthmatic leek.

" I am not," he announced in Westron, "here to volunteer".

An audible gasp ran round the company. Taken aback, Elrond opened and shut his mouth once or twice, searching the vaults of his ancient memory, calling on all his honour and nobility for the appropriate response to - to - _this._

"You what?" he managed.

"I don't want to volunteer." said the Wizzard.

Elrond said nothing. The Wizzard continued.

"I really, really don't. I know how dangerous it is, they told me all about orcs and frankly, I'm sure they're worse in reality. I don't want to meet Mr Flaming Conjunctivitis. I really don't want the fate of your world resting on my shoulders."

He made an emphatic gesture, sending his hat flying. An elf discreetly moved his foot away from it.

"I've had it up to here with saving the world."

Elrond was speechless.

"I don't want to be here! Vetinari and that fat bossy git sent me. I don't want to bear the Ring! I don't want to take it to Mordor. I don't even know the way".

"Neither do I." wheezed Frodo, unnoticed, from under the chair.

"Why _are_ you here?" Gandalf enquired.

"I'm here to tell you I don't _want_ to volunteer. I am entirely against any personal involvement in this entire escapade, or anything remotely dangerous for that matter."

He looked around, to see if his audience was convinced.

"I'd panic at the first sign of danger!" he continued. "I'd be hopeless! I'd give the Ring to the first Orc, Man or Hobbit that wanted it, just to save my sorry skin!"

Turning to the rest of the council, the Wizzard held his arms wide in a beseeching motion. "I wouldn't trust me a far as I could throw me" he pleaded, falling to his knees. He let his head fall, shoulders slump. "I'd be crap", he said. "I'm not volunteering. I'm not."

The council sat in silence. Elrond looked thoughtful, watching the Wizzard, who had lapsed into feeble moans in his own tongue, and stroking his chin. Frodo crossed his fingers in sudden hope.

"Hmmmm..." Elrond said. "I wonder..."

"Oh no." said the Wizzard. "Oh no...."

"Who, of all the wisest, could have foreseen it?" mused the elf lord. The Wizzard blanched.

"If i have read the signs aright, I think this task was not appointed to you, strange Wizzard, sent to us by the Valar from afar, and that if you do not find a way, no-one will."

The Wizzard buried his face in his hands. Frodo grinned in huge relief. And Aragorn, son of Arathorn, stood up from his chair and strode across the floor and knelt before the despairing heap of Wizzard.

"You have my sword," he said.

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i am thinking of doing a Vimes-in-ME but got distracted by this very vivid image of Rincewind bursting into the council of Elrond and announcing that he doesn't want to volunteer.


End file.
